


Mother

by Incy Little Spider (1ncylilspider)



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Ruby & Sapphire & Emerald | Pokemon Ruby Sapphire Emerald Versions
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Creepy Fluff, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore, Mother-Son Relationship, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3094640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1ncylilspider/pseuds/Incy%20Little%20Spider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Archie is sent up to help out his sick Great-Aunt in Fallarbor, the last person he wanted to see was the town Doctor. The strange, frightening woman, who always keep her son locked away in the house ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of this was actually based on a nightmare I had recently, so ... yeah, I was getting major creeps writing out this damn story. Hope you like it.

It was an ungodly long trip from Pacifidlog to Fallarbor and in no way an enjoyable one. The only part he liked was crashing along the currents to Slateport on the back of his Carvanha. He and Shelly used to race each other when they were kids. They'd try to find the most vicious current, hurtling through the ocean, until they emerged from the surface at calmer waters, both battered, bruised and gasping for breath,

After a quick stop at Slateport, he resigned himself to traveling the rest of the way on foot. He was an athletic guy, sure, but this wasn't the type of exercise he enjoyed. Marching onwards for days, the hot sun blazing above him with no ocean breeze to offer him relief and the niggling fear at the back of his mind that his water would run out between towns. No, this wasn't his idea of a good time.

His mother had sent him out to his Great Aunt Maggs, who'd called a few days earlier to declare she'd come down with the flu. Back home in the steamy kitchen, his mother had laughed at the amount of water bottles he'd shoved into his bag. Normally he would've joined in, but he was annoyed with her. The woman reached up from her cooking and pinched his cheek.

“Ah, yer still mopin' lad?” she said. “Actin' like I asked yeh ta give up a kidney … ”

He bit back a smile, pushing potions into the bag's side pockets. Although she was barely taller then his waist, she intimidated most people, with her mouth full of black teeth and burly tattooed arms. Still, her little inn was always full of swimmers and sailors, who couldn't resist her hot soups after a trip out at sea.

“Ya know I bloody hate it up there … ” he muttered, failing to duck as she cuffed him around the ear.

“Yer watch that mouth,” she said. “I told yeh once, I told yeh a thousand times, I can't go, I'm too busy 'ere … ”

He snorted. He knew the real reason why his mother barely visited Fallarbor. She and his Great Aunt couldn't stand each other. Right on cue, she said; “wot did the silly hag fink, hangin' up there wiv all that damned soot, an' in the middle 'a winter … ”

Still, she got a thermos and ladled soup into it from the stovetop, putting it into his bag.

“Dontcha dare have a drop of that either,” she said. Then she ladled more soup into separate bowls.

“Give 'em to the table with the one-eyed lassie and the toothless fella,” she said. “Have the third one for yerself before ya go. An' eat it all up, yeh got a long trip ahead.”

“Don't I know it,” he said and she laughed again.

“Oh grizzle, grizzle, whine, whine … ”

He couldn't help but grin, as he walked out the kitchen door with arms full of hot soup.

Now, days later, he was cursing, rummaging through his bag, trying to find his goggles to get through the desert. After about five minutes, he gave up. He must've left them back home. Glancing warily over at Mt Chimney, he felt like it was staring back, dark and ominous on the horizon. He could never decide what he hated more, the desert or going through Fiery Path. The desert always left his mouth disgustingly dry and full of grit, but on the other hand, Fiery Path made his skin crawl, the thought that he might get trapped in there festering at the back of his mind. At least when he get lost at sea, there was fresh air, sun and open skies above him. He couldn't say the same for getting lost in a cave.

Baring his teeth and squaring his shoulders, he strode onwards. Up the steps, a hiker stared at him with bemusement as he took a deep breath and then ran into the cave entrance. He charged through the hot, rocky place like he was being chased down by a hungry predator. In no time, he was bursting into clear air, gasping, the sweat pouring off him as though he'd left a sauna. He took big gulps from his drink bottle, sitting down for a moment to recapture his breath. Despite being out of the cave, he still felt the claustrophobia twisting up his stomach.

Wiping his brow, he got up for the last trek of his trip. Soon he found himself approaching the little cottage, hidden away behind bushes and trees, near the north of the desert. He hated going to his Great Aunt's. When he was little, he thought she'd lock him in his room to get him to stay with her forever. Taking another deep breath, he rearranged his sullen face to something more friendly and rapped at the front door.

“Come in dear,” her sweet, wavering voice floated out. “I've been waiting for you.”

He resisted the urge to shudder. She didn't mean to do it, but her craving for human contact came across as unnerving, especially to the trainers who stopped by her cottage to recuperate. Getting his wits about, he pushed through the door, having to hunch his shoulders and stoop down to get in. Like always, he coughed at the musty smell, his eyes struggling to readjust in the dim room. The top of his head nearly scraped against the ceiling and he felt a bit of pride at that. Only a few years before, he had to jump to touch it. He used to worry he'd inherited his mother's genes and had thanked Arceus when he started getting taller.

“Archie!” came her voice through the gloom, interrupting him from his thoughts. “My, you've gotten awfully big!”

The middle-aged woman was bundled up in her rolled out sleeping mat, with a lapful of knitting. She was much skinnier then his mother, with a mushy looking face. The only thing the two women shared in common was their black hair, although Maggs' had two streaks of grey at her temples.

“Hello,” he said, pulling up one of the cushions covered in scratchy flowery material. He sat down, cross-legged by her bed and got out the thermos of soup.

“Oh, how darling,” she said, taking it in her grey, shrivelled hands. She undid the top and took a sniff, her face pinching up.

“Did your mother make this?” she said in a slightly disapproving voice. “How many times have I told her, I don't like seafood. Well … it's the thought that counts, I guess.”

She put the top back on and placed the thermos on the bedside table. He could just imagine it sitting there for months and months, until she had a good enough excuse to throw it out without tasting it. Over the phone she'd tell his mother, “such a shame dear, I would've loved to have tried it, but my memory's so bad, I completely forgot. Let it go mouldy I did, I'm such a silly old girl.” His mother would grumble about for days afterwards, complaining to all her customers about that ungrateful aunt of hers.

“What's all that mess on your face?” Maggs asked, squinting up at him. He ran a hand through the scruff on his chin. All the rough old sailers who dropped by his mother's inn had such impressive facial hair, he couldn't help but want some of his own. The men had all ribbed him about it of course, which he took with good humor.

“Call that a beard, lad?” they'd laugh. “Ya ol' Ma's got a better one then that!”

That would earn them a rap on the head with the soup ladle, the inn exploding with rowdy laughter. Archie glanced around the cottage. He'd only been here a minute and he wanted to go home already.

“You really do need a shave,” said Maggs, squinting at him. “It just looks dreadfully dirty.”

“I like it,” he said stiffly. Maggs raised one eyebrow, getting out a handkerchief and wiping her running nose. Archie fidgeted, scratching at his hair and looking away. He wished they could open a window. The house was so airless and he felt big and awkward on the flowery cushion.

“Make yourself a cup of tea, dear,” said Maggs. “And don't be so rude, say hello to the Doctor … ”

She gestured towards the kitchen. Archie jumped. There was a woman sitting at the table in the darkness. How he hadn't noticed her sooner, he had no idea. His stomach did a funny little twist, cold fingers running up his spine. Swallowing roughly, he tried not to show his sudden fear, feeling like he was facing off a growling animal.

He'd been scared of his Great Aunt when he was little but he'd gotten over it, seeing her as a bit irritating but mostly harmless now. However, the Doctor at the table made him feel like he was ten years old again and he resisted the urge not to get up and run out of the house.

A spindly, hook-nosed woman, with an unsmiling blood red mouth, paper-white skin and long crimson hair, pulled back harshly out of her face. Archie had never seen her eyes before; she wore black goggles everywhere she went. A traveling practitioner, she went from town to town, attending to the sick citizens of Hoenn, her home-base here in Fallarbor. He didn't see her often, she was often gone to some other town whenever he stopped by to visit. When she was here however, it left him unsettled for days.

“A vampire,” he'd said to Shelly years ago, after returning to Pacifidlog from a particularly awful summer holiday at his Great Aunt's. “She has to be a vampire. I bet her eyes are like a Duskull's and that's why she has to hide 'em … ”

“Don't be stupid,” Shelly said. “Vampires can't have kids and ya said she has a kid our age … ”

Archie had shaken his head.

“I've never even seen him before,” he said. “The Doctor has him locked in his room twenty-four seven, she never lets him outside.”

Shelly had been confused. He envied her for staying in Pacifidlog. The weirdness of the Doctor was something he struggled to put into words.

“How do ya even know she has a kid then? She could be lying to cover up her vampire nature … ”

“I tried throwing rocks at his window to get him to hang out, but he shouted at me to go away … so he's real alright.”

“Maybe he don't like summer and he goes out in fall when ya back here,” Shelly suggested reasonably. He sighed. His mother had told him the Doctor had sensitive eyes and skin and it would make sense if her son was the same. Still, the vampire theory was more fun.

Shifting on the cushion, he muttered out a greeting, unable to look her straight in the face. She just stared back, so still, she could've been a wax figure.

“Don't be shy dear, get yourself some tea,” Maggs repeated. He really didn't want to walk past the woman to get to the stove. The one time he'd been close to her, had been the day he'd been throwing rocks at her son's window. He'd been about to walk off, feeling dreadfully disappointed at the strange boy's rejection, when he'd turned to find her looming over him. She'd leant down close and he'd smelt her, sharp and medicinal, saw her teeth small and pointed in her blood red mouth. Heard how her breath rattled hoarsely in her chest, felt the alcohol fumes wafting from her …

“If I ever catch you defacing my house again,” she'd said in her whispery voice. “The consequences shall be … unpleasant.”

He'd nodded, nearly in tears and she'd swept back into the house, leaving him to run as fast as he could back to Maggs.

“I'm good,” he said to his Great Aunt, starting to hunch over and wrap his arms around himself.

“Are you sure?” said Maggs, frowning a little. He nodded his head firmly.

“Well,” she said. “Okay then.”

He swore he only looked away from the table for a second, but when he turned the Doctor was towering over the woman's bed, her little black bag clasped in her hands. The goggles glinted like spider eyes and he had to take several breaths to calm himself down. It was ridiculous, he told himself, to still be this scared of the Doctor. He was a young man now, not a boy. He had to get a hold of himself.

“Your medicine,” she was saying. Out from the bag, she pulled out a vial full of thick, dark syrup. She got a spoon and started to pour it out, the sticky goo sliding slowly out of the glass. When she'd finally collected enough, she gave it to the old woman, who winced and stuck it into her mouth. She swallowed with great difficulty and Archie passed her one of his drink bottles. Taking it, she took big gulps of water. He didn't know if the Doctor was looking at him, but it felt like she was.

“I heard your young man's joining Team Terra,” his Great Aunt said, smacking her lips together. “So is Archie. He'll be on the water research side of things of course. I expect Maxie'll be studying around Meteor Falls or Mt Chimney?”

Archie blinked. So that was the mysterious son's name. The Doctor's mouth seemed to turn down even more then usual, a crease deepening in her forehead.

“Maximus,” she corrected her as she got a thermometer out of her black bag. “It's a pity. He'd be much better suited in my own line of work rather than … tinkering about in volcanos.”

His Great Aunt laughed a little uneasily around the thermometer between her lips, seeming to pick up that she'd darkened the other woman's mood.

“Well I expect there'd be a lot of work with the Pokémon as well, which is good … ”

She stopped mid-sentence when the Doctor's nostrils flared. Archie thought he saw her pointed teeth flashing for just a moment in a dog-like snarl, that didn't like in any way natural on a human face. But when he blinked, her expression was blank once more.

“Again,” she said. “His skills lie in the area of human-orientated study. Such vast intelligence should be utilized in areas of actual importance ... ”

She got out a penlight from her bag. When she leaned down and turned it on to look into the old woman's eyes, the light flashed through the room, casting the Doctor in an eerie glow. After a few second's examination, she clicked it off again, taking the thermometer out of Maggs' mouth.

“You agree of course, what a waste of time and money this Terra team will be?” she said, straightening up. “So little study goes into improving humankind's health and wellbeing … it all goes into Pokémon instead.”

“I'm not exactly sure,” Maggs said, sounding quite nervous now. “I … I did hear you've been struggling with funding lately?”

The Doctor was quiet for too long a time, just clicking her long fingernails together. Maggs looked like she didn't dare speak, the other woman staring down her beaky nose at her.

“Think of it like this,” the Doctor said finally, like she was talking to a child. “If all the funding goes into Pokémon research … when you get sick, people like me aren't around to make you all better again. And if you're not around, who'll be running this little rest-stop to make your poor Pokémon better? Hm?”

The more she talked, the more Archie's dislike of her grew. She said 'Pokémon' like it was a dirty word, clicking it off her tongue with distaste. His Great Aunt looked over, noticing the scowl on his face.

“Why don't you go in the back room, dear?” she said quickly. “Get some milk for the Spindas … they're dreadfully cold, the little darlings.”

He got up, thankful for an excuse to leave. Avoiding the other woman's glassy stare, he went over to get the bottles and then strode for the back room. This was the only part he liked about visiting Fallarbor.

Most Pokémon when knocked out by passing trainers, would be fed berries by their herd until they were brought up to full health again. Spindas however, didn't know how to get to each other, wandering about in fits of dizziness. His Great Aunt went around collecting any fainted or injured Spinda she could see, taking them to her cottage to nurse them back to health. Usually she'd knit them little blankets in the winter, but now she was sick, this would be Archie's job. Sliding through the door, the handful of confused Pokémon began stumbling towards him and he felt himself grin, bending down to hug the nearest few.

“Who's there?” someone said and for the second time that day, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked over and tucked into the corner, was a young man around his age or a little older, wearing a drab brown sweater and shorts for some reason, despite it being winter. There was a Spinda in his lap and he was feeding the hungry Pokémon a bottle of milk. Archie was speechless for all of a second. The man's eyes darted away from behind his glasses, like he was too nervous to make eye contact.

“Uh … ” he said, after recovering from the shock. “I'm Archie … Maggs' great-nephew … ”

The other man didn't need to explain who he was, his pale skin and crimson hair giving him away. The mysterious son.

Archie sat down at the worn old couch against the wall, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, getting out the wool and knitting needles from the basket beside him. The Spindas were already struggling to climb up onto the cushions to join him, most falling over or banging into each other.

“Why you sitting over there for, dude?” he said with a grin. He patted the seat next to him. The man, Maxie he remembered, was very quiet, but it was different to the Doctor's, not disconcerting like hers. The poor guy just seemed very on-edge.

“Yer can help me with the knittin',” he said. The man stayed put, even when the Spinda in his lap tottered off.

“I don't … I can't … I don't know how to knit,” he said. “I just … I just feed them milk.”

Archie shrugged and they fell into an awkward silence. Maxie was picking up the Spindas and feeding them in a very methodical way, his brow furrowed as though he were undertaking a task of massive importance. In the back of his mind, Archie couldn't help but wonder how Shelly would react to this.

“So I heard you were joining Team Terra?” he said, as the man picked up a new Spinda to feed. “Me too.”

He still wouldn't look him in the eye. Archie wished he would, because the conversation was starting to make him feel more like a gigantic oaf by the second.

“At least I'll know one person there, right?” he said. Maxie shot him the smallest of smiles back, before refocusing on his feeding.

"So yer down at Fallarbor, huh?" he said and the other man nodded. He thought about mentioning how he threw rocks at his window when they were kids, but Maxie opened his mouth to speak before he had the chance;

“Uh … uh …” he tried to say. “How … how long are you … stay-staying … ”

Archie got the impression that he didn't talk to other people much.

“Until the ol' lady's better I guess,” he said with another shrug, saving him from having to struggle through the rest of the sentence.

“Oh,” he replied, voice barely audible.

“Wot?”

Maxie swallowed again.

“I'm not sure … did you know that … uh … Mother is a … stay-in Doctor?”

Archie's easy smile fell away at once. He just stared at the man, feeling like his heart had dropped into his stomach.

“Huh?” he said and his voice was suddenly croaky.

“She … she stays over at … her patient's houses … until they're be-better,” Maxie said, shooting him a sympathetic look. He imagined sleeping in his bed and hearing the Doctor slide around the house at night. Getting up for a drink and seeing her sitting at the table, staring at him with those black goggle eyes of hers. He shivered.

“Why don't she just go back home?” he asked, much more roughly then he'd meant.

“That's not protocol,” Maxie said at once, rattling it off like a robot. Archie stared at him a little longer. The other man looked away, putting the Spinda to his shoulder to burp it.

“Are you staying here too?” he asked. The red-headed man shook his head, placing the Pokémon back down on the ground.

“N-no, I'll … I'll be g-going soon … ”

Archie suddenly wanted to ask him to stay and keep him company. Another ridiculous thought shot through his mind, to ask to stay at his house in Fallarbor, away from the two women in the other room. But that was stupid. He'd only just met the guy for Arceus' sake.

“Man … ” he said with a sigh, picking up his knitting needles to get to work. He wanted to complain about the Doctor, but he knew to bite his tongue. Badmouthing a man's mother was just shitty, no matter how much of a massive creep she was. Maxie looked around, realized he was out of milk bottles and then saw there were more at the couch. He hesitated and Archie gestured at him to come over. After a long pause, he did, sitting down with his knees locked together and his elbows drawn into his body. He felt a thrum of affection in his chest.

Neither really knew what to say to each other, so Maxie just kept on picking up hungry Spindas to feed and Archie knitted away at their blankets, the room full of the chattering Pokémon calls and clicking needles. He always found this work comforting and the other man seemed to feel the same, slowly beginning to relax. The minutes slid by, until the last Spinda was fed and all of the bottles were empty. The little creatures were tired now, wandering about and yawning.

Archie got to his feet to start the next part of the job. Carrying a handful of blankets, he went about, picking up the drowsy Pokémon and placing them gently on the couch. The other man quickly started doing the same, gathering the remaining blankets in his arms. Once they had the couch lined with sleeping Spindas, they began tucking the wooly material around each one, making sure they were covered up and warm.

The two men glanced at each other. Maxie was smiling. Archie coughed a little, shifting his feet.

“Yeah … ” he said, voice gruff. “Y'know ... my Ma's convinced I'm gonna be the Terra Leader one day?”

“Not if I'm Leader first,” Maxie said, still smiling. Archie shot him a lopsided grin.

“I think the Water Research division's goin' to Lilycove for their next expedition,” he said. “What about yours?”

“We'll be at Lavaridge,” the redheaded man said without hesitation. Archie noticed a dull flush forming at the man's cheeks, beginning to creep down his neck. He looked away, suddenly nervous.

“But … uh … I read the timetable … both the Earth and Water Research divisions will be in … Dewport the same time … ”

“Oh … cause it's got the Granite Cave, yeah?”

Maxie just nodded, eyes flickering between him and the corner. Archie stuck his hands into his pockets.

“Well if I don't see ya 'round, it'll be in Dewport then,” he said. Maxie bit into his lower lip, pushing his glasses up his nose. He didn't say anything, just kept on nodding. He turned to the door and then jumped violently. Archie whipped around.

The Doctor stood in the doorway, watching them. He saw Maxie rubbing at his chest, breathing hard.

“M-Mother,” he said. “I've … I've told you not to do that … ”

Her face stayed as blank as a bare stretch of paper and Archie wanted to shrink away. She seemed to be staring at the Spindas now and he thought he faintly heard that death croak of a breath from deep within her lungs. Without a word, she beckoned her son over with a long, sharp-nailed finger. Archie and Maxie didn't look at each other, feeling much younger, like teenagers rather than young men.

The man approached his mother and as soon as he was close enough, her hand clamped tight onto his shoulder, nails digging in. Archie waved a little awkwardly, watching as Maxie seemed to stiffen up like rock all over again. She led him out of the doorway. From the main room, he heard Maggs' voice;

“Oh do come around again, Maxie sweetheart … ”

“Maximus,” the Doctor corrected.

“ … I'll have your sweater knitted up in no-time. I've run out of your usual colors, you don't mind red do you? A nice change for you I think, very nice and bright … ”

“Th-thank you … ” he heard Maxie say. Then in a quieter voice, he said; “Mother, you don't need to walk me home.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” the woman replied smoothly. Then they left, the door slamming shut behind them and Archie let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Maggs let out a little sigh.

“Could you refill the hot water bottle for me please?” she called out. He tried not to cringe. Jobs like this weren't as fun as looking after the Spindas. Walking into the room, he wrinkled his nose up when she pulled the sweat-covered bottle from underneath the blankets. He poured the cold water down the sink and put the kettle on the stove to start heating it up. Glancing over, he saw a flask sitting at the kitchen table. He frowned. Picking it up, he examined it closely. There was no label. Opening up the lid, he took a sniff and recoiled. Booze.

“What the hell … ” he whispered, remembering back when he was younger and he'd smelt this on her breath.

“Oh Archie, put that down,” Maggs said from the other side of the room. She sent him a stern look when he tried ask her for some kind of explanation. As the kettle boiled, he kept hearing her making tutting sounds. She was still doing it when he was back by her side, passing her the hot water bottle. Thoroughly annoyed with her and wanting to just go back and look after the Spindas, he made a move to leave. She coughed sharply.

“Stay here a moment and keep me company,” she said and he resisted the urge to sigh. He plopped back down on the cushion, resting his heavy forearms on his knees. Maggs was looking at him differently, her face a mass of furrowed wrinkles.

“Now look,” she said. “I know … the Doctor's a … very unpleasant person … ”

Archie ducked his head down, embarrassed. He wished he could be more stoic. He'd never been able to hide his emotions, showing them clearly for all the world to see.

“I don't think you understand,” she went on and her voice had gotten softer. “I know you were getting upset when she was talking about Pokémon in that … special way of hers.”

He shrugged, rubbing awkwardly at his hands.

“But think about it," she said. "Why do you think there's always new Pokéballs being made, why do you think there's so much funding focused on Pokémon research alone?”

The young man just muttered something, eyes fixed on the carpet.

“It's not just because we want them to be our friends and allies,” she told him. “It's … to defend ourselves. You're young, you don't know … you don't how dangerous Pokémon can be.”

Archie shifted on the spot, wishing he could be anywhere but here. Maggs watched him for a while, then readjusted her blankets around herself, making a clucking sound with her tongue

“Look … ” she said. “When Pokémon attack each other, they just tend to faint, but Pokémon attacks on humans … they're some of the most gruesome … most horrible things you could see Archie.”

There was a silence. Archie didn't know what to say, what to do. Something in his chest was going tight and his skin was prickling. He just sat, with his head ducked down and his arms wrapped around his chest. After a long few minutes, his Great Aunt broke the silence … but she seemed far away now, staring past him, her eyes distant and cloudy.

“I don't know how some people could choose to witness that every day for a living,” Maggs said in a faint voice. “Every doctor I've met … hasn't been … quite right.”

He remembered the locked window when he was a kid and the shadow of a boy hidden behind the curtain. Remembered her insisting on walking a grown man home, as though he were a child.

“You don't have to stay when she's here, but I just don't want you picking a fight if she goes on an another anti-Pokémon rant, or takes a nip from the flask every now and again. Okay?”

Archie said nothing, shamefaced and quiet.

“You don't have to agree with her, but just … try to understand, dear.”

He nodded silently. The mortification was crawling all over him now. Why couldn't he just smile and act normal when the Doctor was around? By Arceus, he needed to grow up.

Maggs smiled, a weak little upturn of her lips and reached over to pat his hand.

“I know you want to go back to the Spindas. Old Aunty's lectured long enough.”

She patted the lump in her blankets where the hot-bottle was and then returned to her knitting. The red wool was forming one of her ugly as all hell turtlenecks, the ones he always got on birthdays. They were all pushed away into the darkest parts of his cupboard, never worn. Something Shelly teased him about of course.

He went into the back room and the sight of the dozing Spindas made him relax just slightly, a smile forming on his face. There'd be more milk in the fridge he'd have to bottle and re-heat when they woke up again.

Coughing slightly in the musty room, he went over to open a curtain. He didn't know how Maggs could stand it. Through the darkening evening, he could see two scarlet spots in the distance, almost beginning to disappear in the billowing soot, heading for the even fainter lights of the nearby town. The taller figure paused, stepped in front the smaller one and got something out of their bag. She sprayed it around them both, the mist settling down like a barrier, keeping away any wild Pokémon.

Turning away from the window, he still felt the old fear, but it was tinged with something different now. When he looked around the Spindas, sleeping so peacefully, he realized what the feeling was. Pity.

Before the little creatures woke up, he pulled the sleeping mat and big wooly blanket out of the cupboard, making his bed. After returning to the kitchen to get the milk organized, he went into the back room and shut the door. Maybe he could just hang out with the Spindas and pretend the Doctor wouldn't come back home at all.

That night, after a bit of warm milk to get him drowsy, he settled into bed, having fed and tucked all the Pokémon back in again. Snuggling under into his blanket, he found himself falling into a strange dreamscape.

He was walking again, for Maggs' house, carrying a basket instead of his bag. The route from Mauville had turned into a dark, forest path. He could see sand crunching under his feet. The desert was near. But there was no dust storm or barren horizon ahead, only the endless stretch of trees. To the left of him, he saw the beginning of the route that would take him to Fiery Pass. It seemed like the cave mouth was much closer than usual, without so many shrubs and steps in the way.

In the darkness of the cave, he thought he saw something. The glint of glass. Watching him. He turned to the desert-forest without hesitation, walking forward. He knew if he looked around, he'd see the eyes following him, feel the rattling, alcohol breath on his neck.

The moon hung, unnaturally large in the sky, shining across the sandy ground and soft green leaves. He could see his Grandmother's … no not his Grandmother's … his Great Aunt's house in the distance. He'd give the basket to his sick Grandmother's and be safe from the blank black eyes in the woods.

He approached the door and heard her sweet voice trail out; _come in for some milk, dear. Come in and have some milk._

When he stepped inside, he felt his feet splash over something wet, smelt something, tasted something pungent against his throat. He looked down and for a moment he thought someone had spilt the milk all over the floor. But this milk was crimson over his shoe, coating his ankle in syrup. He looked up and saw the white, white skin and the eyes at the kitchen table. Those nails, so long and sharp, digging into the arm of a man, a crying man in a red sweater.

Sharp, pointed teeth flashed and then clamped down. Crunching into his neck. Crimson gristle dribbled down the chin. Jaws unhinging to take another bite.

 _Have some milk dear,_ said his smiling Grandmother from her bed. The man's hand swung down and in his fist, he could see a knitting needle, glistening bright. Down into the creature's arm, the one that was holding him so tight.

_Have some milk dear._

The gaping mouth sunk back into the skin, tore out a fresh dripping chunk. The knitting needle slashed through the arm in return, wound flapping open and wet. Both coated in each other's crimson blood. Like clockwork.

_Crunch._

_Slash._

_Have some milk dear. Have some milk dear._

He blinked awake, finding himself in the darkness of the back room, doused in a cold sweat. He was shaking, nearly crying underneath the blanket, the soft snores of the Spindas all around him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a violent nightmare. Breathing heavily, he wiped his forehead and dried his eyes on the wool. The little sounds of the Pokémon were already calming his beating heart and he glanced around them fondly. But still … there was something … off in the air, something ... not quite right. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, putting it down to just being shaken up from the nightmare.

Closing his eyes and settling back to bed, he tried to get some sleep. He couldn't manage it and he frowned, trying to figure out what the problem was. Then slowly, he became aware of another sound beneath all the cooing snores. A heavy, rasping noise.

His eyes flew open. There was something glinting in the doorway …

He nearly screamed the house down, clamping a hand over his mouth at the last second. She didn't swoop in and rip out his neck, there was no blood dripping from her lips. She just stood there.

For how long? Had she been watching him sleep?

 _Try to understand …_ his Great Aunt … not his Grandmother's voice whispered in his ear. He tried.

Had she heard him toss and turn in his sleep, heard the scared snuffling sounds his mother said he'd always made whenever he had nightmares, even when he'd only been a baby? What had she thought, knowing he was in a room full of Pokémon … after all the things she'd seen, the things that kept her up, drinking late, late into the night? Heart still thumping it's sick rhythm in his mouth, he tried to find his voice, tried to breathe evenly.

“They're not … they didn't attack me,” he said at last. “They haven't … hurt me or nothin'. I just … I just had a nightmare, is all.”

Her head moved and he felt like she was assessing the room, making sure none of the Pokémon got the wrong idea.

“I'll … I'll be fine,” he told her. “I'll … just go back to sleep.”

Those blank goggles turned back to him. For once, he mustered the courage to look her straight in the face.

“That's brave,” she said, her voice so low and whispering. “Braver than me.”

They stared at each other. Then she slipped away, leaving the door slightly open. Pulling his blanket under his chin, he watched as she returned to her seat at the table. He wondered if she'd move from the position all night. Maybe before he would've been convinced it was him her eyes were fixed on, behind the thick, black glass. But she wasn't watching him. Not him.

The snores of the Pokémon were like lullabies around the room, tender and soothing. Archie pulled the blankets in tighter under his chin.

He thought maybe he understood. 


End file.
